


Silk Stockings

by Hopetohell



Category: Night Hunter (2018)
Genre: Bodily Fluids, Degradation, Desk Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Soft Degradation, silk stockings, soft smut, spit, thigh highs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:41:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28711413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopetohell/pseuds/Hopetohell
Summary: He had a single bright deer-in-the-headlights moment when the realization came: he could, if he wanted.Walter looks good in silk.
Relationships: Walter Marshall (Night Hunter)/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	Silk Stockings

And there’s Walter in your good silk stockings; they’re already overstretched and torn in places, garters straining against his thick thighs, and he looks up from where he’s got his face buried in your cunt to ask, _well?_

Well, indeed. It’s fun, sure, and he looks better than he has any right to, even with the hair on his legs bunching up in little whorls under the silk. It’s sensitive, pulling the hair in new directions, and when you run a hand up his leg, he can’t help but groan. 

_Alright?_

_Yeah. Feels good, a little weird. Slippery. Wanna get my mouth on you now._

That’s one of his tells, isn’t it, when he’s working through something. He eats at you and it settles his mind; his tongue inside you pulls his thoughts apart so he can examine them from every angle. He knows you know that’s what he’s doing, too, but he doesn’t mind. It happened with the hook as well, more than an hour of him swallowing down moans and trembles and liquid need, til he’d decided yes, he was _most definitely_ interested. 

_You know how if you’re stuck on a problem, you’re supposed to sleep through it? Well. I’m too fucking turned on to sleep, sweetheart. So lie back and let me work._

And the stockings, well, he'd run one big paw up your calf, watching the fabric catch against his calloused palm, and when you'd asked _like what you see? Bet you'd look pretty in them too_ he had a single bright deer-in-the-headlights moment when the realization came: he could, if he wanted. And goddamn if he doesn't look good, barely contained, all silk and hair and rough edges, a beast wrapped up in a pretty bow. And he's thinking about it, really thinking about it, about sensation and the way he looks in the long mirror on your wall, pulling your thighs apart with his big hands right there on the rug in front of the desk, glancing over at his own face half-hidden, down to the sharp line where his flesh disappears under fabric. 

_Hm._

_Well— fuck— what do you think? You like being pretty, all dolled up for me? Ah—_

He pulls back, amused, indulgently harsh. _Quiet, sweetheart. Do I have to tie your mouth shut? Or would you rather I stop, jerk myself off and come all over your face?_

_Yeah, god, you know I love it. Make me filthy, pretty boy, but right now I kinda really need you to fuck me. Can you do that?_

And yeah, of course he can, but he’s gonna have you over the desk; he wants to watch all those papers stick to your sweaty skin. He wants to watch the drool roll down the side of your face til it hits the desktop, if it doesn’t land in your hair first. _Love it when you’re filthy for me, sweetheart._

_(Because I can’t bear to see you bruised,_ he doesn’t say)

And yeah, what you’d really like is to run your hands up his legs to feel that fine tremor, that ripple of skin that follows sensation. But you can’t fucking reach. Good thing you can see him in the mirror, at least, as he’s hooking your knees over his elbows so he can make your feet bounce helplessly. You can see the way his toes bend, trying to grip the rug through silk. And you watch, don’t you, that first careful thrust as he presses inside, and then the long dirty roll of his hips that buries him to the root, the beautiful thick curve of his ass clenching with the effort of holding back, of being careful. 

Walter sees you looking and _eyes front. I thought you’d know by now_ as he bends to kiss you filthy and open; he licks into your mouth, sloppy wet with saliva, running over the bow of your lips and down your cheek, just like he’d hoped. _Filthy, sweetheart. It’s a good look for you._

_Good like your legs stuffed into my stockings, like the way you let me—_ but _that_ little bit of naughtiness is cut off by the way he points his tongue to lick under your upper lip, catching against the frenulum and goddamn if that doesn’t make you shiver and clench around him. 

_You were saying? Yeah, that’s what I thought._

_Bastard. Do that again._

He does, and it’s just as good the second time; he feels the ripple and roll of your cunt shivering around him and it makes him groan, long and low and _god, sweetheart, you feel so good._

_Better than sex?_ And that one earns you a dirty look, but he’s fighting back a smile; there’s a muscle jumping in his cheek, not quite hidden by his beard. 

_Yeah. Better than sex. Now hold on._ And he begins to lay into you with vigor; every thrust has your back coming up off the desk, papers sticking just like he wanted; they fall to the ground in drifts and he nearly loses his footing. There’s an ominous tearing sound as he rebalances and one of the stockings gives way.

_I’ll buy you new ones._

_Never mind, just don’t fucking stop_

He comes first but it’s alright; there’s barely a half beat before he’s dropping your leg to get his hand on you, drawing wetness up and around your clit, circling til you follow him down with a shriek and a _fuck, Walter, stop, Christ, it’s too much,_ but you don’t tap out so he keeps going; he pulls one more out of you before he stops and drops his head to huff out a breathless laugh against your lips. 

_Good?_

_Yeah, pretty boy. It was. And so’re you._ He shows his sharp teeth when he smiles at that, soft and sated as his heartbeat slows, as he slips free and draws you down to lie with him on the rug, just for a moment, til the sticky mess becomes too much and he’ll follow you into the shower. He’ll crowd you, and you’ll hog the spray, and for a little while longer it’ll all feel soft and easy.


End file.
